


Umbrella

by jendavis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "SGA, John/Ronon, fiddling with the environmental controls."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbrella

Maybe it was a cultural thing. Maybe Sateda didn't have any ingrained rules of the road, or maybe it was the fact that he almost never sat in the front seat, but this was getting insane.

"Dammit, knock it off," John swatted Ronon's hand away from the controls for the third time since they'd taken off.

Ronon grunted, but another few moments and he was fiddling with the controls again, leaving John wishing they'd never adjusted the jumpers auxiliary controls for non-gene carrier use. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his shirt sweat-stuck to his back, and braced himself as the jet stream of hot air raked over his skin, making it itch.

"It's already a thousand degrees in here," McKay complained from the bench in the back, but at least he'd stopped bitching about his ankle for the moment. Maybe the painkillers had kicked in.

"Fucking cold." Ronon wrapped the blanket Teyla had given him a little more tightly over his shoulders. His earlier bravado had flagged over the past hour or so, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

 _This_ , John thought irritably to himself, _is exactly why non-fraternization rules exist_. Flaunting them, no matter how carefully, meant that it was a little easier for Ronon to test his limits. A little harder for John not to let him.

 _At least there's no stereo in the jumper._

"That's what you get for jumping into a damned river dressed in leather from head to toe. And for disobeying a direct order." He explained, but the feeling of Teyla's glare at the back of his head was unmistakable, and he felt like a bit of a heel anyway, even without her assistance. "And for making us worry. Look, we'll be home soon, you can get changed, get a shower or something, warm up."

Ronon nodded, still scowling, and that was that. Another two minutes and Atlantis came into view at the horizon. They were nearly home.

Ronon's hand darted out of the blankets to turn the heat up another thousand degrees. Like John wouldn't notice.

\---

It had been so damned simple. In the wake of a hundred lost memories, Keller, with the botany department behind her, had requested that specimens of the Enchuri plant be harvested for study, in hopes of preventing another outbreak of Kirsan fever. One quick jaunt to the mainland and back, nothing more.

It had started to rain, of course, the moment they'd arrived, and while there was enough rain gear stowed in the jumper to go around, Ronon had been stubborn. As usual.

They'd made it about a mile upriver, working their way along the low bluffs that Teyla and Ronon had identified as likely sources and listening to Rodney bemoan their lack of umbrellas all the while, when the rain became a torrent.

John had already been about to order them to turn back when the ground beneath Rodney's feet turned to sludge. He'd gone down, sliding hard, leaving a swath of muddy torn grass in his wake, until the gnarled roots of a large tree brought him to an abrupt stop with a pained shout.

\---

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," he said, helping Ronon guide a limping Rodney back towards the shelter of the rock face which curved back out towards the fast-moving river. "I'm heading back for the jumper, and we'll get up here and bring it in. Teyla, you stay here, and-"

"I'll stay," Ronon volunteered, surprisingly. At John's questioning look, he explained. "The plants we need are just over there," he pointed them out, about thirty feet north, growing out of the cracks of the rock face, too high up for Teyla to reach safely, and too close to the river for John's liking.

"Okay, but be real damn careful, it's a mess out here," John warned. In the background, Rodney yelped as Teyla tried to help him find a more comfortable position. "Don't get cocky. That's an order."

Ronon rolled his eyes, flicked some water off his face. "That an order?" He smirked, but nodded before John needed to argue the point. I got this. Sooner you guys go, the sooner we all get back."

\---

He and Teyla had made pretty good time, all things considered, but even so, they'd been late enough to miss something. The exact thing he'd been _not imagining_ since leaving them at the river's edge.

"There were are," John spotted a good landing place next to the rapidly moving river, and was beginning to move in, when he noticed the unmistakable sight of Ronon's body plunging backwards from the outer reaches of the rocks, breaking the surface.

"What the-"

" _John_ ," Teyla started, leaning forward in her seat, ready to jump through the windshield if the situation called for it.

"I _know_."

Teyla tapped her radio as John brought the jumper down low. "Rodney, Ronon, what has happened?"

"Ronon here thought he was Spiderman," Rodney's voice shouted. "As you can see, he was mistaken!"

Opening the rear hatch the instant they landed, they could see him already struggling to stand, and John directed Teyla to assist as he rushed along the side of the jumper, eyes scanning the river's rushing surface, dread coiled in his stomach, his throat, determined not to miss a thing.

So focused was he upon the frigid roaring water that he ran directly into Ronon, coming around the front end of the jumper, plastic bag of plant samples in his hand, dripping with the rest of him.

He coughed, once, but he was grinning. "Think we got enough, or should I go get more?"

\---

Ronon disappeared en route to the infirmary, so after seeing that McKay was being seen to and checking in with Lorne, John changed into dry clothes and headed towards Ronon's room, intent on dragging him back.

Letting himself in, he discovered that the bedroom was empty. Ronon's gun and holster were lying in a puddle on the nightstand, and in the bathroom, the shower was running.

He probably should just go. Ronon _was_ probably fine. But he should've warmed up in the hour-long jumper ride, too.

"Ronon?"

"C'mon in," he answered, and this time, when the door opened, John was overcome with a wave of wet heat. Even so, he closed the door behind him and peered through the rapidly steaming room.

"You warmed up yet?"

"Getting there," Ronon answered, his shape barely discernable through the fog on the glass of the shower wall. He faced away from the stream, soaking his thick hair, and John wondered at the weight of it. He watched Ronon's arched back for a moment, wishing for a hint more transparency to the glass before noticing the heap of sodden leather lying on the floor. Without realizing he was doing so, he began picking them up, setting them on the racks to dry.

"You going to do my laundry or get in here and help out?" Ronon's voice was teasing, amused, and John considered the shower, the likelihood that it was set to scalding, and his watch. He had about half an hour before the roster meeting with Lorne.

"If I end up in the infirmary with burns all over my body, I'm making you explain it to Keller."  
John grumbled, but pulled his shirt off anyway. Boots came next, then the rest.

"Uh-huh."

Joining him in the stall, John was relieved, and a bit irritated, to see that there wasn't even a bruise on him. Ronon's arms wound over and around his shoulders, pulling him close until there was nothing left to breathe but the hot wet air in the hollow of Ronon's throat.

He sank closer, sliding his arms around Ronon's waist, feeling the spray of the shower directly on his skin, a little too hot, but not dangerously so. Even under the assault, Ronon's back felt cool by comparison.

Ronon turned his head, his goatee brushing down along John's face as he pulled pressed a kiss into the side of his mouth, and it felt like he was going to pull away, so John followed him. Licked along his lower lip before gaining slow, lazy entry. John could feel the rough slide of dreadlocks as they tumbled over his own shoulder, encasing him, sending trails of slightly cooled water streaming down along his spine.

Ronon's breath still had the last hint of a wheeze to it. "Should go to the infirmary," John muttered, because he had to at least _say_ it, but he didn't press the issue.

"I hate water," Ronon mumbled against his temple. "Not like this. This is good. But when it's cold, when there's more of it than there is of me."

"Me too," John agreed, wanting to ask him how he felt about living on a city that floated on the ocean, but there were only so many admissions that could be wrung out of Ronon on the best of days.

A few minutes, Ronon heavy against him, finally warming, and the press of their bodies was beginning to mean something else. John pulled back, a little. "Should dry off. Get you in dry clothes, into bed or something."

"Got that meeting thing?" Ronon reached out to shut the water off.

John reached for the towels, handing one over. "In a bit." Stepping out onto the cool tile, he dried himself quickly and efficiently, moving to the side so Ronon could do likewise, and ducking out of the way as he grabbed another towel to wrap his hair, wringing the water out of it.

By the time John was dressed, Ronon was already hurrying through the comparatively freezing air of his room, pulling on some loose pants and a sweater before crawling back into his bed, sitting up against the wall and dragging the blankets over him.

"You gonna come meet us for dinner?" John smirked, watching a drop of water hanging precariously at the tip of one of Ronon's dreadlocks. It fell when he nodded. _Gotta get you a hairdryer one of these days_ , John thought, before leaning in to kiss at the reappearing smirk.

As he headed for the door, Ronon was taking his gun out of the holster, drying it off with one of the blankets. Stepping into the hallway, John concentrated his thoughts, thinking _warm_ deliberately, _Ronon's room_ , and felt something in the city's environmental control mechanisms take notice.


End file.
